


The cottage at the end of the path

by locheia



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Break Up, Dealing with Emotions, Divorce, Fluff and Angst, Hopeful Ending, Misery, Multi, Post-Break Up, Post-Divorce, Sad with a Happy Ending, a thousand different ways to say 'cry', both Newt and Anathema and Tracy and Shadwell are broken up in this, cottages, happy-ish ending, just general sad but it'll be okay i promise, pastel colours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 18:32:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19256809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/locheia/pseuds/locheia
Summary: The house itself was a pale pink colour with cottage windows and shutters, the image of homely retirement. Anathema felt rather safe standing in front of it - it exuded a loving and welcoming nature, and she felt as if whoever lived here had the exact same attitude.Anathema, reeling from her recent divorce, gets lost in the woods and finds a cottage tucked away in the hills. She knocks, and ends up greeting a surprising homeowner and old friend.





	The cottage at the end of the path

Anathema usually cycled to her problems, rather than away from them, but she was doing the opposite. Her hands were white as she clutched the handle bars and she screwed up her face as she tried not to cry.   
The last three months had been a _mess_.  
Fighting, plates thrown, curses, words she couldn’t take back, silence for days, divorce papers-  
Newt was lovely, Newt was kind, Newt was sweet, but he was never hers. He was a gift from Agnes, from someone who knew her future but not who she really was. Someone who had no idea he wasn’t her type, that he wasn’t wasn’t compatible with her.  
He was like a puppy for Christmas that she didn’t ask for, and who grew up into a dog she couldn’t love, no matter how hard she tried. She’d tried so hard too, spent 3 years and a marriage on him, but in the end it wasn’t going to work. And now they were through, with a signature at a courthouse and a moving van in the early hours of the morning whisking him out of her life.  
Gone.  
Anathema began to cry, tears streaming down her face. She cried because she couldn’t ever have loved him the way he deserved. She cried because she woke up alone now, ate alone now, looked after the Them and Adam alone now. But she cried mostly over the fact that now she was alone, no matter how hard she tried not to be -   
She was happier than she’d been in a while.  
It seemed like an insult to Newt, to the kindness and adoration he’d shown her, but there was no denying it. He had been a puzzle piece that didn’t fit in her life the way he was supposed to, and it had always been uncomfortable, that she was expected to love him back.  
Nobody else understood either. Aziraphale had tried, consoling her down the phone, but she knew that his heart had only and always belonged to Crowley. He had no idea what it felt like to waste years on someone, knowing that you didn’t really love them, and the way it hurt when they finally walked away forever.  
The Them and Adam were still only teenagers too, and while Pepper had a girlfriend and Adam was learning to skateboard to impress his rather ambivalent crush, they were much too young to have experienced true heartbreak. Anathema didn’t want to bother them with her feelings either, because she’d probably start crying in front of them, and that would only add to their laundry list of traumatic incidents. It would be too much of a burden on them, and anyway, the Them would likely try break Newt’s knees with a baseball bat while Adam attempted to blot him out of existence.   
Despite her misery, Anathema let a pitiful laugh out at the image. It made her feel worse and better at the same time - knowing she couldn’t blame him, but wanting to punish him irregardless.   
She hadn’t paid attention to which roads she had been taking, which paths she had rode down, and now she wasn’t sure exactly where she was. Anathema pulled the breaks, and the bike groaned, shuddering to a halt. Her mother had taught her to always observe her surroundings carefully, since one could never tell exactly where one of Agnes prophecies would take place. You would have to use clues to figure out what on earth she was talking about. Anathema had nearly once missed an important event due to a “ground of lost human dreams” being a school, and not the landfill she had thought it was.  
She wiped away her tears on the sleeve of her jacket in order to look at the scenery better, and steadied her breathing. No point in crying when trying to ask for directions, was there? Now, what could she see?  
There was a stream nearby, water softly lapping the rocks, and the hills touched the horizon in a chaste kiss, the valley stretching on behind them.   
Up the road there was a cobblestone path, and Anathema caught a glimpse of a small cottage peaking out from behind the trees.   
“That’s probably the best place to go,” she muttered out loud, wheeling the bike and praying to Agnes that the homeowners were in. The foliage above shielded her from the glare of the sun, and Anathema noted the perfectly placed honeysuckle and (strangely) datura alongside the path. The house itself was a pale pink colour with cottage windows and shutters, the image of homely retirement. Anathema felt rather safe standing in front of it - it exuded a loving and welcoming nature, and she felt as if whoever lived here had the exact same attitude.   
She lifted the bike up, and knocked on the door, turning back to look over the garden once more. It was incredibly beautiful, and the letterbox beside the porch added to the look. She pressed her glasses up her face as she peered at it closer, trying to make out what was written in calligraphic handwriting on its side.   
J, that was probably an e, z, another e, an incredibly flouncy b-  
Wait.   
Did that read _Jezebel_?   
The door swung open behind her, and to her absolute shock, Anathema Device found herself staring at the one and only Madame Tracy.   
The other woman stared back at her for a moment, and Anathema almost began to apologise for imposing, but then Madame Tracy beamed at her.  
“Anathema, darling! What are you doing out here? I haven’t seen you in so long!” Tracy gestured for Anathema to enter, “Come in, leave your bike on the porch, love.”  
Slightly dazed, Anathema followed the instructions, and wandered into the hallway. It was a baby blue colour, with the room at the end a heavenly yellow and she found herself wondering if the rest of the house was equally as pastel. Madame Tracy took her by the shoulders and steered her into the kitchen, pulling out a pinewood chair with a particularly fluffy red cushion on it for her to sit on.   
“So, what brings you to my neck of the woods?” Madame Tracy asked over her shoulder, busying herself with the kettle.   
Anathema gathered the remnants of her strength to respond with a weak, “I got lost.”  
“Ah, that explains it,” Madame Tracy smiled back, leaning on the counter, “I hadn’t even told Aziraphale I was moving, so I was wondering how you knew. What a coincidence!”  
“Entirely,” Anathema nodded, still slightly taken aback by the whole situation. She hadn’t seen Madame Tracy in a while, not since last Christmas, when they’d all met up in Tadford’s town centre. She and Newt had exchanged presents, and laughed while the teenagers bickered over which Christmas Carols to sing - “I think we should sing Silent Night, it’s the best one” “Shut up, Little Donkey is clearly superior” “You don’t even celebrate Christmas Adam, you’re the Antichrist!” - all the while Shadwell and Tracy, Crowley and Aziraphale, and Mr & Mrs Young smiled at them like they were all a rather large, strange family.  
Anathema felt her hands shake, the memory of a happy time aching in her chest more than she realised it would.   
It took all her courage to ask, in order to make small talk, “So why did you move Madame Tracy?”   
Madame Tracy froze. “Ah.”  
Anathema felt as if she had pushed a button she had no idea existed. She turned around to face Madame Tracy, and saw that the other woman had paled considerable.   
“Madame Tracy?” Anathema tried again.   
Madame Tracy shook her head, slowly coming back into the room from wherever she had been before. “I- I needed to leave, darling,” she told Anathema, as a sad look fell over her eyes.  
Despite every fibre in her body telling her to stop talking, stop talking, stop- the young witch found herself asking a potentially dangerous question.  
“Why?”  
Madame Tracy seemed to straighten, her body becoming taller and muscles pulled taught. She held the position for what felt like hours until finally she let out a large sigh, and involuntarily relaxed.  
“Well, me and Mr Shadwell, dear, we- we broke up.”  
Anathema felt a gasp slip through her lips. They’d broken up?  
“Look at you,” the ex-psychic smiled softly, “You look like you just got told that the world is ending again.”  
Anathema flushed, instantly embarrassed. “I’m sorry. It’s just...”  
“Hmmm?” Madame Tracy pulled two mugs from the cupboard as the kettle began to whistle, but kept her eyes fixed firmly on Anathema as she struggled to let the words out.   
“Me and Newt... we divorced.”  
Now it was Madame Tracy’s turn to gasp, her mouth opening in shock.  
“Darling! I had no idea, I’m so sorry! Here, give me a second, we can have a chat about it.”   
True to her word, in no time at all, Anathema found a perfectly hot cup of tea in front of her, with Madame Tracy in the chair opposite, opening a brilliantly red biscuit tin.  
“Been meaning to save this for a special occasion, and I feel like this is it,” she crookedly smiled, offering the tin over to Anathema. “Take one, sweetheart.”  
Her fingers quivering, Anathema chose a thin ginger snap, and bit into it gently. It tasted like a dish she used to make for her and Newt, spiced and warm at the back of her throat, like home. She felt tears well in her eyes, and watched as Madame Tracy’s face dropped as well.   
“Oh sweetheart...”  
“It’s not fair,” Anathema choked out,   
her body suddenly wracked with miserable sobs, “why, why couldn’t I love him? Why did he have to leave? Why can’t we be good together, why doesn’t- why doesn’t it work? I want it to work, please Madame Tracy, I want-“  
Her voice crumbled under emotion and she collapsed, her body losing all strength, crashing against the tabletop. She heaved, convulsing in despair, unable to articulate the fact that she just wanted to be happy, why couldn’t they just be happy, they were supposed to be happy-  
Anathema felt a cool, be-ringed hand take hers, and hold it gently. She looked up, and saw Madame Tracy weakly gazing back at her.  
“I know, my dear,” she said sorrowfully, face mascara-stained and wet with crying, “I _know_.”  
Anathema paused, staring back at her, until they both began to weep together. They let the tears flow unbidden and unrestrained, letting emotion they had repressed for too long go free. It hurt so much, and they shared in that grief, that heartache. They cried together, and when they had no more tears to give, Madame Tracy crossed the table and cradled Anathema in her arms.  
“It’s not fair,” she whispered to Anathema, “Because I loved him. I did. All of my heart was his. But he couldn’t love me back, because he never saw beyond who I was on the surface. He left, never choosing to try to love me, and to go hunt imaginary witches instead of being with the woman who was there for him since the beginning. But I know you Anathema. You’re a brave girl, and if you tried to love Newt, you tried with everything you had.”   
Madame Tracy gently lifted Anathema’s face up, and looked her in the eyes. Her voice was soft and melancholic, without the trace of a lie.  
“But sometimes, dear, things just don’t work out. Love isn’t always enough for us mortals.”  
“I wish it was.” Anathema knew the words were weak and hopeless, useless - but she had never meant anything else so much before.  
“So do I,” Madame Tracy held her close, “Oh, so do I.”

They sat there in the kitchen, crying and comforting each other, until the darkness began to spread it’s hues over the sky. The stars flickered in the stratosphere feebly, as if even they were worn too far thin to shine bright tonight.   
“It’s late,” Anathema noted, voice still hoarse from lamentations, “I should have left hours ago.”  
“That’s alright, dear,” Madame Tracy smiled back, “I have a spare room. I made sure when bought this place it came with three bedrooms, in case Aziraphale and Crowley ever wanted to pop around.” She sniffed.   
“I haven’t spoken to Aziraphale in a while,” she admitted, “I think I’m afraid of telling him me and Shadwell are over. I don’t think he’d understand, either.” She looked out the window, at the rolling hills and the valley, and murmured, “I don’t think I’ve spoken to anyone in a long time, if I’m honest.”  
Anathema felt her heart pang as Madame Tracy wiped away new tears. She opened her mouth, trying to find the right words to say, but Madame Tracy interrupted before anything slipped from her lips.  
“It’s alright dear,” she hummed, sorrow just a sliver in her tone, as she took Anathema’s hand once again. She smiled delicately. “I’m glad you came around.”   
“Me too,” Anathema responded softly, and rose up to hug the older woman.  
“Thank you.”  
“No, thank you, darling.”  
They were silent for another moment, until Anathema spoke once more.   
“I ought to be going to bed now, I think. I don’t want dinner, I don’t think I could stomach it, if that’s alright.”  
“Oh, of course dear. It’s the third door on the left, next to the bathroom,” Madame Tracy said, pulling away to let Anathema go. “I hope you have a good nights sleep.” She bit her lower lip before confiding, “I think I’m going to call Aziraphale now, actually. He’s probably been sending all his mail to our- my,” she corrected quickly, “old house. Poor angel is probably worried sick. Or maybe he’s just completely forgotten, I can never tell these days.”  
“I’m sure he’d love to hear from you,” Anathema promised, “And I’m sure he’s unhappy to not have heard from you in a while.”  
Anathema straightened her jacket and smoothed down her skirt.   
“Goodnight, Madame Tracy.”  
“Goodnight, Anathema.”

The bedroom was comfortable, in a pastel green colour that reminded Anathema of plants. She vaguely recalled Aziraphale gushing about Crowley’s small garden that he had, or something along those lines, so the colour indicated that this would be their room if they ever came around. The large double bed confirmed that to Anathema, but right now she didn’t care if it was meant to be their bed, Madame Tracy’s bed or God’s bed. She wanted to rest her weary head and sleep without thinking about all her problems.   
Anathema kicked off her shoes, and without hesitation, threw herself on the mattress. She turned on her side, pulling the duvet around her, and listened to the ambience, hearing nothing but the muffled sound of Madame Tracy on the phone. She strained her ears to catch glimpses of the conversation, and heard another familiar voice.  
“My dear woman, why didn’t you ever tell me! I’ve been worried sick, oh, and all the mail I must have sent to the wrong address!” Aziraphale fretted down the line, and Anathema could feel the stress emanating off from him all the way in his own cottage not too far away.   
“I needed to deal with it myself, sweetheart,” Madame Tracy replied, “I’m not even really ready to talk about it properly now, but I’ll try. I’m sorry, Aziraphale.”  
There was a pause, and Anathema was considering the prospect that he’d hung up the phone, when suddenly Aziraphale’s voice came back, strangely tender in tone.   
“No. I’m sorry, Madame Tracy. I should have known something was wrong sooner. I hope you can forgive me for not being a better friend.”   
Even if Aziraphale wouldn’t be able to catch it on his end of the phone, Anathema heard the sudden intake of breath from Madame Tracy at being called the angel’s friend.   
“Oh, you silly boy, you’re forgiven, of course you always are,” Madame Tracy’s voice trembled, “I missed talking to you, and I’m sorry I never told you about me and Shadwell. It’s just, I never thought you’d understand. You’re just so in love and Aziraphale, I’m so terrified-“  
Anathema decided to stop listening, the conversation becoming more personal than she was willing to eavesdrop into. But the knowledge that she wasn’t by herself, with the proof in the soft lull of speech next door, comforted her. Anathema felt her eyes close, and her last thought before she slipped off to sleep was that, it was good to know that she wasn’t alone in feeling alone.  
And that she knew, with time, her heart would heal.   
It always would.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and I hope you liked it. <3


End file.
